


Dearest

by irrationalkate



Series: Jon x Sansa Remix 2017 [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inuyasha Au, Jon x Sansa Remix 2017, ft cameos from Jaime and Brienne as Sango and Miroku lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalkate/pseuds/irrationalkate
Summary: On her way back to the past, time-traveler Sansa Stark stops by her childhood home with her protector and friend, the half-demon Jon Snow.-(Inuyasha AU with Jon as Inuyasha and Sansa as Kagome)





	Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> manga counts as comics right?! i was feeling super uninspired with the usual Marvel/DC pairings for day 2 of the remix, not being a huge comics fan. but i DID have a major manga/anime phase and that's where i drew inspo.

> We went the long way, didn't we?
> 
> We got hurt, didn't we?
> 
> ... we got there in the end.
> 
> _ Dearest - Ayumi Hamasaki (Inuyasha ending theme) _

* * *

Sansa glared at the stubborn half-demon lurking in her bedroom.    
  
"I'm going to close this door, and you're not to come out," she said, struggling to maintain her composure. Years of etiquette classes were positively wasted on him, the wretch, but it meant something to her. "If Petyr sees you, you'll only make things worse."   
  
Jon exhaled. His eyes were burning violet instead of the calm grey she had come to find solace in, his lips bared his too-sharp teeth in a furious snarl - and yet, he nodded his assent. He stepped away from her and sat on her bed. Jon looked absurd on the flowery yellow comforter of her childhood, dressed in a leather jerkin, furs about his shoulders, sword strapped to his waist. He flexed his hand over Longclaw's hilt, drawing his dark, pointed claws down the leather handle. His eyes were grey now, not the terrible purple-blue that screamed danger. He nodded again, his face calmer.    
  
"I agree to stay up here. So long as he keeps his hands to himself."   
  
A part of her, the small, ugly, weak part that remembered the back of Joffrey's hand and Petyr's manipulations, unclenched. This is why she felt safe with Jon. He respected her boundaries, he trusted her. She knew he would never raise a hand to her, but there were other ways to make people hurt. Again and again, he proved that he was the best of men... If only he were a regular human man instead of a half-demon bastard prince who was born 500 years ago, he would be perfect boyfriend material.     
  
Sansa shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on her lack of a love life. If Petyr saw Jon, a dark and strange man dressed in furs and leathers, who radiated warmth at a temperature far higher than any mortal should be able to, who liked to place an arm around her shoulders when he sensed her anxiety - he would not like that. And he wouldn't buy the "historical reenactment enthusiast boyfriend" excuse that she had fed to Jeyne. And the many little gears in his loathsome mind would begin to turn. No, Sansa could not have that. Petyr already held too much of what was precious to her in his hands. He could not have Jon. She would not allow it.   
  
"I accept your terms. I won't be long."   
  
She closed the door. Jon was already pouting. No doubt he would be in a sorry mood for a while but secretly she rejoiced. _  He trusts me. He trusts me to take care of myself.  _ __  
  
Maybe she couldn't handle a White Walker or a demon or a wight all on her lonesome. But she could handle Petyr.   
  
Sansa pressed her shoulders back and down, lengthening her spine. Her smile was sweet but her will was steel. The daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully cowered for no man anymore.    


* * *

Jon was sharpening Longclaw when she returned. He looked up when she walked in and stared at her. Those grey eyes would either be her salvation or her downfall, Sansa thought, mustering up a tired smile.    
  
"Everything alright?"    
  
"No need to pretend you didn't hear it." Jon's hearing was inhuman... unsurprising, considering that he was half a demon. She slumped against the doorway and studied the carpet intently. Her arms hugged her body.    
  
Jon ran his black tongue over his fangs thoughtfully. Another thing she loved about Jon: he was always careful with his words. While he contemplated how to proceed, she stepped away from the door and began to layer. A thick, practical sweater went on over her thin, long-sleeved shirt first. Her leggings were already fleece-lined, but she pulled on a pair of compact snow pants over them, and then tucked them into bulky winter socks. She had just pulled on her boots when he broke his silence.   
  
"Your littlest brother. Rickon. He's in trouble somehow?" He tried after a long moment. He couldn't understand the problem, not really. But gods-be-damned if he didn't try. He always tried.    
  
"He had another fight at school," she muttered, scuffing the heel of her boot on the carpet. "The principal tried to call me, but I wasn't there.  Petyr had to talk to him. They might... they might put him into foster care. Give him to another family."   
  
How did you explain to your brother's principal that you were battling literal demons five hundred years in the past? That modern-day Westeros as they knew it would cease to exist unless Jon could find Azor Azai and defeat the Night's King? Those were the ramblings of a crazy person.    
  
Or a time traveler.   
  
"I am sorry."    
  
Treacherous little tears fell down her cheeks. She shoved her hand against her mouth to stifle a sob and then Jon was there, enfolding her into his chest. His embrace was uncomfortably hot in the autumn weather, particularly with all her layers on - she much preferred his hugs in the cold air of the Long Night - but she buried herself into him and let herself be weak, just for a while.   
  
He mumbled reassuring nonsense into her hair and rubbed circles on her back. His claws, she knew, could shred her sweater with the slightest touch - but he was so gentle with her that she didn't fear such a thing.    
  
She tried to chuckle, but it turned into a hysterical hiccup. "I'm sorry. Best let me go... I'm getting snot all over your furs."   
  
He stepped back, but drew his hands down her arms until they grasped either wrist. His touch, though ever so gentle, left a trail of fire that tingled her skin and raised the hair on her arms.  _ My dragon man _ , Sansa thought fondly.  He gazed intently at her.    
  
"You once told me it wasn't weakness to care in a hard world, but strength. So don't ever apologize for your tears." He smirked a bit then. "Or your snot."   
  
She managed a watery giggle.    
  
"Let's go," he said as he tucked her under his arm and began to walk out of her room and then outside. Sansa let herself lean on him. With Jon, she could be weak for a little while longer. 

* * *

They walked through the godswood still wrapped together, not saying a word. She had always loved autumns in the godswood; loved it when nature turned the color of her hair.  _ My autumn girls _ , her father used to say, grabbing her with one arm and her mother with the other. Then he would swing Arya up into his arms and call her his winter wolf pup.    
  
The memory didn't sting as much with Jon next to her.    
  
Sansa moved to leave his side and he let her go, except that he tangled their fingers together. No need to read into that, she told herself. Probably just some dragon-demon friendship signaling. Perfectly platonic hand holding didn't seem like it would be a demon thing, but then again the dragons had always been apart from their kind. Perhaps Maester Samwell could expound on it when they saw him next.    
  
Either way, Sansa held on tight to Jon with one hand and pressed her other hand to the solemn, carved face of the heart tree. Then came that now-familiar sensation of falling, falling, falling, cold air stinging her cheeks, Jon's burning hand her only anchor to reality -    
  
Sansa's eyes shot open and she sucked in a breath of air so cold her lungs burned. She turned around. The godswood was still there, but now snow was everywhere instead of red, orange and gold leaves. The drifts were nearly as tall as her in some places but the sky was bright and clear; the snowstorm they had departed in earlier had passed.    
  
"Shall we?" She said, offering her arm to him with a courtly flourish. He scoffed but linked their arms together.  Ghost, Jon's direwolf companion, came loping out from a copse of trees and zig-zagged behind them faithfully. If not for his red eyes, she might not even have noticed him.   
  
"So!" Sansa said, attempting to inject some cheer into her still-hoarse voice. "What sort of lecture do you suppose Brienne will be giving Jaime when we arrive?"    
  
"Hmm," Jon replied in a mocking tone, "perhaps something about his uncouth behavior or crass words?"   
  
They emerged from the godswood to the familiar sight of the ruinous castle Winterfell, where Sansa had first awoken Jon from an enchanted sleep entirely by accident. A swell of fondness rose within her at the sight of it.    
  
"Truly? I thought perhaps the subject of acting honorably."   
  
"Surely she's exhausted that topic by now."   
  
"For Jaime? Never. Gods know he'll always need it."   
  
They made their way into the keep and sure enough, they could hear the timbre of Brienne's annoyed voice echoing around the stone walls, followed by the mocking laughter of Jaime Lannister. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but Jon seemed to have some idea, and looked none-too-pleased. He sped up, practically dragging her along as she was forced to keep pace, and as they rounded a corner the two blondes appeared.   
  
" - perhaps she wants him to behave dishonorably, that's all I'm saying wench," Jaime said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and leaning forward.  Brienne puffed up immediately, face reddening, which, Sansa knew, would only serve to spur on the infuriating man. Whatever the topic, it upset Jon; his body temperature rose at a steady clip.   
  
"Who wants who to behave dishonorably?" Sansa asked loudly. Jaime and Brienne sprang away from each other.   
  
"Yes, Goldenhand," Jon crooned softly, a hint of purple in his gaze as he used the hated nickname, "Tell us of whom you were speaking."   
  
Jaime - reckless, arrogant, cavalier Jaime, whose mouth always ran away from him even when his life was in danger - paled. He and Jon had had their disagreements in the past, but Jon had never been truly angry at him. Jon, unlike the other dragons, didn't usually act on anger or allow it consume him. Sansa burned to know what Jaime been saying but calming Jon down was her first priority.    
  
"N-nothing, just a little jape," Jaime replied, trying to regain his bravado. He flicked his hair away from his face, which Sansa used to think was a way for him to show off his golden locks to their best advantage, but was actually a nervous tic. "Truly."   
  
Jon exhaled a short cloud of steam. Sansa reached over with her free hand and pressed it against his bicep, gentle but firm. "Are you alright?"   
  
He took a long moment to compose himself, subduing the snarl on his lips with effort.    
  
"Yes." He smiled at her, just a quirk of the lips and flash of his fangs really, and her heart leapt. She prayed to the gods that he couldn't hear that.    
  
"What news?" Jon turned on his heel, Sansa still on his arm, and waited for Jaime and Brienne to follow them as he walked in the direction of the lord's solar. 

“We’ve had word from several clans and houses while you’ve been away,” Brienne said briskly. Jaime kept silent for once, unwilling to push his luck. “Of course, we have the usual letters from House Targaryen for you, Jon, and for Sansa from Highgarden.”

Jon’s grip on her arm tightened and Sansa pressed herself closer to him. Neither of them wanted to dwell on those particular correspondences. “That goes without saying. Anything else?”

“We have several houses who will gladly pledge their men to the cause… should we provide proof.”

_ “No. More. Wights hunts _ ,” Sansa said in a tone that brooked no argument before Jon could get a word in. Brienne sighed and continued on.

“Stannis of House Baratheon says he would speak to us - to  _ you  _ \- in person.”   
  
Jon stopped dead. “House Baratheon?”

“Stannis is a dreadfully boring man, completely dedicated to the realm and to justice - very different from Robert,” Jaime said. It went without saying that Stannis lacked the burning hatred for all those of dragon blood, unlike his older brother. “But if he can bring the Stormlords to our cause…”

“The Stormlands doesn't have a large population,” Brienne replied. “The numbers would be appreciated of course - “

“It lends our cause legitimacy, Brienne. Something we sorely need, since nobody else seems to care about this winter that’s lasted ten years,” said Sansa. She turned to Jon. “This could be it, Jon! This could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Maybe this is the turning point the Red Woman was talking about!"

Jon wrinkled his nose at the expression and she wondered if he knew what a camel was. Probably not. But he smiled at her enthusiasm all the same. 

"Then let's get the sled ready. We should ride south while we still have daylight.”

* * *

 


End file.
